behind.
‘Was this really her idea or yours?’ someone else asked. ‘She’s been injured and stuck in the palace until now. Has anyone seen her apart from palace insiders?’
‘She’s not a bride by coercion, is she?’ someone else called. ‘It doesn’t look good.’
Raoul was starting to sound exasperated. ‘If you knew Jessica you’d never suggest such a thing. Coercion!’
Coercion, Jess thought blankly. Poor little injured traveller, tied with silk cords, or maybe chained in a dripping dungeon, rats running over her feet, surrounded by a few skeletons for good measure, whipped, starved, until finally she agreed to marry the wicked prince.
She grinned.
But maybe it wasn’t funny. The questions were getting nastier.
‘We can suggest what we like,’ someone else said. ‘We’re damned sure Marcel will be suggesting there’s been a measure of intimidation. Or bribery. He’s going to have kittens when he finds out you’re married. And married to an accident victim who’s not even well enough to answer questions…’
Enough.
Princess Jessica flicked up the lock on her door. She placed the little white alpaca, as yet unnamed, across onto Raoul’s seat and attempted to do the same with Balthazar. But Balthazar had decided that the only thing standing between him and the mortal terror of the flashes was Jess. He gave a tiny flickering whimper and stuck his nose into her armpit. When she tried to haul him out he whimpered again.
She sighed.
‘OK, let’s do this together,’ she told him. ‘Princess in chains and alpaca in armpit. A lethal combination, I don’t think.’
But it had to be done. She hugged Balthazar close, and she emerged to face the music.
The media moved, just like that. Bride emerges from car…
For a moment Jess couldn’t speak. There was no chance to speak. The moment her door opened the cameras spun to face her, and flashlights went crazy.
Balthazar nuzzled closer and she knew how he felt. Give her an armpit to hide in and she’d be right in there! But Raoul-her only available armpit-was on the other side of the van and she’d emerged to defend him.
Right. Let’s do it.
‘You’re scaring my babies,’ she said, clearly and loudly, and everyone took a step back.
‘You speak our language,’ someone said, and she gave him a look of astonishment.
‘Why wouldn’t I?’
‘But you’re Australian.’
‘The two things are not necessarily incompatible.’
‘Jess, hop back into the van,’ Raoul said uneasily. He turned to the Press, appealing to their better nature. ‘Jess isn’t well. I’ll drive her into the palace grounds and come out and speak to you for longer.’
‘I’m sorry to have to contradict you, my love,’ Jess said, giving him her most domestic smile, ‘but I’m very well. Far too well for these ladies and gentlemen to imply you’ve coerced me into marriage while I was ill.’
There was another murmur of surprised delight. The attention, if anything, intensified.
‘You called His Highness “my love”.’
‘So I did,’ she agreed cordially. ‘What do you call your wife?’
General laughter.
‘Does he call you “my love”?’
‘He started it.’ She looked across the van roof to Raoul, she lifted her brows in mock-enquiry and she smiled. ‘Didn’t you…dear?’
‘Um…’ He appeared gobsmacked. Maybe he was gobsmacked.
‘Why did you agree to marry His Highness?’ someone asked and Jess allowed her domestic smile to become a trifle complacent.
The reporter who’d asked the question was younger than Jess. Jess smiled at her, woman to woman. ‘His Royal Highness was desperately in need of a bride,’ she said virtuously. ‘And I was available. I’ve done a very good deed.’ She grinned across at Raoul. ‘I know, Prince Raoul has major problems in terms of eligibility. He’s thirty-five, he’s desperately good-looking, he’s kind to his mum, he loves his nephew, he’s a doctor-and I imagine he looks really gorgeous in a white coat. Oh, and did I mention that he’s rich?’ She let her smile become prim. ‘But I’ve put all that aside. I thought, no, I can take pity on him and marry him. Charity is my middle name.’
There was general laughter-delighted laughter-and the attitude of the entire Press corps changed. She had them on her side, just like that.
‘So now you’re Princess Jessica,’ the reporter said and Jess raised amused eyebrows.
‘I guess I am. As long as no one expects me to wear a tiara.’
‘What did you wear at your wedding?’
‘What I have on.’ She glanced down at her jeans, which were now liberally adorned with alpaca hair and the odd bit of mud from tiny hooves.
‘With or without the alpaca?’ someone demanded.
‘Hey, I had to have bridal attendants,’ she told them and everyone laughed again. She flicked a glance down into the van, just to make sure her Baby No. 2 was OK-and winced. ‘Um, Raoul…’
‘Yes, dear?’ He seemed stunned.
‘Um…what you were most afraid of…in the van…’
Distracted, he stared into the van window. And saw what she was seeing.
‘Oh, God…’
The media were now totally on their side. From being aggressively curious, they were suddenly a group of people enjoying themselves. Raoul hauled the door of the van open and gingerly pulled out the cria-holding her at arm’s length. He handed her to the nearest reporter.
‘Hey, I don’t want it,’ the man said and Raoul grinned.
‘This is my first royal command,’ he told him. ‘Take her away.’ His grin deepened. ‘Consider it a scoop.’
More laughter and the reporter carried her gingerly to the road verge. Just a bit too late.
Actually, quite a lot too late.
‘You’re going to explain the condition of his van to Georgio,’ Raoul told Jessica wrathfully-and she giggled.
‘Yes, dear.’
They were entranced. These reporters must have been bored stupid for the last few days. Maybe they’d been bored stupid for years, with a not very savoury royal family to report on. Now… Jess could see headlines forming in their eyes, but she could also see real pleasure.
‘You’re not really leaving us tomorrow?’ someone asked and the laughter died.
She swallowed.
‘Yes, I am.’ There was nothing else to say. She thought briefly, maybe she could stay and keep on with her buying expedition, but she knew now that such a thing would be impossible. She’d have reporters trailing her every inch of the way, and Raoul would be left…
She glanced across at Raoul and thought, no, she had to get away. From Raoul?
‘I don’t live here,’ she said gently. ‘I’ve made this marriage so that Prince Edouard can be safe, and so Prince Raoul can set in train the reforms he badly wants to make. But I’ve done that by agreeing to the marriage itself. There’s no reason for me to stay longer.’
‘What about all those things you just listed regarding His Highness’s eligibility?’ the woman reporter demanded, and Jess met her look head-on and thought: Uh-oh.
Woman to woman.
She looked away but…was she that transparent?
She couldn’t be transparent.
‘Hey, I’ve saved the world,’ she said, trying for laughter again. ‘I’m like Superman turning back into nobody, popping my cape back in the cupboard until the next crisis. My job here is done. Back to the real world.’
Laughter. But still the question. ‘But you’ll stay married to His Highness forever?’
‘If that’s what it takes,’ she told them, and her chin jutted again, definite on this point at least. ‘I’ll not marry
